We're all the same

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As you age your soul and mind tend to wander home. My Mom was typical. She wandered into dementia and sometimes wandered out again. She'd talk about her brother. The year he broke his leg in a skiing accident and was quite ill- lost the leg cause of the lack of knowledge in those days. She ended up sleeping in the dark attic room, her downstairs room easiest for her ailing brother to sleep in. The only way to get into that attic was via pull down set of stairs. The only light a cord from a light bulb- she did not like running over to that string. Pretty scary for a small girl. My soul returns to a small farm as I age. I walk the twenty acres in my mind, the woods path, the swamp and the morel mushrooms that we picked and put into bread bags. My Dad and his brother Dan logged the woods with draft horses is the story handed down to me. Funny about the tricks of the mind. Due to family dramas I also spent childhood years in Minnesota. It was there, in Saint Paul and me at the time quite troubled, that I ran into the teacher who set me onto the path of writing. My hours of wandering alleys instead of sitting dumbly behind a school desk! And yet my heart rarely returns there enough for a piece of writing to embrace. Where do you return to in your dreams? Desert island? Banana plantation? Mountain cabin? Inner city apartment that has a fire escape big enough for plants to sit on?